I Can't
by emeraldorchids
Summary: Just a one-shot.


_Miranda, I need you._

It feels like everything is falling apart around me. Sure, the new job is great. More money, better title, more respect (and a lot of power, actually), but the work never ends. I always used to think that as you moved up, you had people beneath you to do the actual work. Upper management meant buzzwords like "vision" and "strategy" (and "strategic vision"). Somehow, that's not the case. I'm stuck doing the strategic vision and the grunt work because the grunts can't get it right no matter how much I try to train them and help them and guide them.

_No one can do what I do_.

I hated her for saying that. I was thinking, _what a bitch_, until I realized that only someone who was insecure could utter such blatant untruths. Sure, everyone is a unique and special little flower. No two people are alike. But we are not irreplaceable. Maybe a better way of saying it would have been to add the qualifier "like I do," because then that would be true. No one can do what I do, like I do it. But they can reply to the same emails, and eventually, they can probably come to the same conclusions. They might even have better ideas. But they won't present them exactly like me. Does it matter?

_Am I reaching for the stars here? Not really._

I want capable employees who can do what's asked of them, who can ask questions when they don't get it, who are intellectually curious enough to wonder if they should be doing what they're doing and whether there's a better way.

There has to be a better way.

I can't go on like this, day after day, night after night. Someone asked me what I do for fun in the city and I embarrasingly could not answer. In front of the VP. I made something up about my friends being scattered across the country and visiting them for long weekends when I have a chance. But that's a lie. I don't do that. I can't do that. Work has taken over my life. And if I'm not working, I'm spending time with my elderly grandpa. I wake up and go to work. I get in 2-3 hours before everyone else so I have time to get my work done. My workday consists of answering questions, offering opinions in meetings, answering more questions, and fixing other people's mistakes. Then at 5:01 everyone leaves and I breathe a sigh of relief because-finally-I can pick up where I left off at 8:45 am when they came in.

I set a goal for myself. I said, "It's going to be rough. You'll have to put in extra hours. Tough it out until mid-April and things will start to look up." And where are we now? It's Friday, at 7:24 pm, and I'm still at work. I have a conference call scheduled for tomorrow morning (yes, Saturday, no, I don't get paid overtime). And I have to spend all-day Sunday putting together training presentations for trainings on Monday and Tuesday. And on Monday, I have about 5 minutes of free time that's not in meetings. On Tuesday I have an eight-hour webinar, of which I have to miss one hour for another training.

I am overwhelmed. I don't have enough time. There is too much on my plate.

That's hardly what a newly-promoted senior executive can say. Do you think Miranda ever said that? Never. Instead, she told her husbands to eat without her, that she was running late. She told her kids that "Mommy has an important meeting and has to work really hard so her boss is happy." She didn't even notice when her husband moved his things into the guest bedroom.

_Everybody wants this-everybody wants to be us._

No. No, they don't. They're confused. They think it's fame and fortune and power, when it's just loneliness and fear and a paralyzing sense of anxiety that you won't get completed what you need to. Your thoughts spiral and you start thinking of the absolute worst case scenario as if it's your reality. You're not going to finish this presentation. You're going to have to cancel the meeting. The team won't be trained and the project won't be completed. The company will lose millions of dollars. Your boss will say "Why did I even hire you? I thought you were good at this." You will lose your job, your home, your sanity (which is already on its way out).

You ruminate until you're panicking-full on gasping for air and clutching your chest. There are no tears left in your dehydrated mess of a body. You think the same thought over and over in your head: _I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it._ There's no one you can talk to. Your parents will think you're crazy and tell you to shake it off. Your mom will make some comment about how at least you'll lose some weight by skipping meals and being so stressed. Your dad will be hopelessly optimistic, telling you how it will get better. You don't care. You need help now.

"What can I do to help?" people ask you. You don't know. You can't answer. There's just too much and it's overwhelming. Instead of focusing and getting your task list completed, you jump from item to item, panicking as you realize the enormity of your job.

_Your job_.

You have no idea how much I want to call Miranda right now and ask her how she does it. How she did it. Was she a stressed-out mess when she left the office? Did she spend her weekends in bed crying instead of catching up?

Maybe this just isn't the place for me. I wanted to do this. I want to do this. I think I'm good at it (other people tell me so), but everything I do feels so behind, so late. Like I'm trying to catch up with a stone that's rolling down a cliff.

I need help. I need help, I can't do this alone… Help me, Miranda.

The next morning Andrea woke up, her neck stiff from spending another night asleep in her desk chair. She groaned and begrudgingly stretched her arms. The kink in her back was never going to go away. As her eyes adjusted to the early morning light, she woke up her computer and started looking through her emails. Smelling a faint scent of coffee in the air, she told herself she'd read through the messages, then go in search of coffee before replying.

About halfway through the list, she froze when she saw the message:

From: Priestly, Miranda

Date: 4/23/2007 03:32 AM

Subject: RE: (no subject)

A small gasp escaped her lips and she quickly covered her mouth.

"Ah, good morning," a smooth voice called from the other side of the office.

Andrea slowly turned around in her chair, stunned into silence as she met eyes with the Editor herself. "Miranda," she gasped. "Oh god...what did I do." She closed her eyes and tried to get her breathing under control as she trembled. When she opened them, Miranda was still watching her. "Shit, you are really here… Oh god… it's been… I can't...I can't...I can't" she began gasping.

Suddenly, she felt the editor's soft hands on her shoulders, gently calming her with their soothing touch. "Shhh, you're okay," she whispered. "Everything is going to be okay, Andrea. It's alright."

"I-I can't...I can't…"

"You can, sweetheart," Miranda said, crouching down in front of Andrea's chair. She took the young woman's hands and held them right there in her lap. "Look at me." When the young woman started writhing away, Miranda let go of her hands and gave her some space. "Andrea, I am not here to hurt you. Tell me what you need."

"I don't know," Andrea said, turning back to her desk and burying her head in her hands. "I don't know what I need."

"Okay, I understand," the editor said calmly. "Andrea, I want you to stand up for me. Right now."

The young woman did exactly as she said.

"I'm going to take your hands, okay? I need you to look at me."

Andrea nodded and slowly opened her eyes. She was still rapidly gasping for breath, and would soon be wheezing.

"Do you have medication for this?" When the girl shook her head, Miranda continued. "Okay, so I need you to look at me-meet my eyes. Can you do that?"

Andrea shook her head and looked down at the ground. She was clutching the editor's hand tightly.

"Okay, that's all right. Andrea, I am very proud of you, I know how difficult this can be. You will be okay. Do you understand that?"

"I can't…"

"You can. And you will. Sweetheart, look at me," Miranda said, softly reaching out and tilting the young woman's chin upwards. "There. There are those beautiful brown eyes," she said with a smile. "Breathe with me-in through your nose, and out through your mouth." Miranda followed the breathing pattern a few times, and it seemed like it was helping.

"Miranda, I'm sorry-"

"No," Miranda said, holding up her finger. "Keep breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth." Again, she imitated the pattern. "Andrea I am glad you reached out. I am proud of you for doing so, even if it may not have been intended-keep breathing," she said. "As you surmised, I have been where you are. I did not handle it as well as you, my dear."

Andrea tilted her head. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Miranda chuckled. "Seriously. I know you probably can't imagine anything worse than right now, but it was. I think my lowest point was while I was taking fertility shots and my hormones were all over the place. Can you imagine?"

Andrea just shook her head. "Thank you. I-I'm better now."

"I knew you would be," Miranda said with a smile. "Do you get those attacks often?" she asked as she led the young woman over to the chairs in the corner.

"No. Just recently. It's like...you know, I don't even want to think about it," she said. Miranda reached over and handed her a cup of coffee.

"Is this yours?"

The editor shrugged. "It was. It's cool by now. You like yours this temperature though, don't you?"

Andrea couldn't help but smile as she accepted the room-temperature beverage. "I do. I didn't know you knew that." She took a few sips and the strong coffee felt good on her throat. "Why did you come here?" she finally asked.

"I recognized a lot of what you wrote in your email. As I said, I've been there. It's scary. I was worried about you and didn't want you to be alone," Miranda said.

"You do realize you're the last person I would ever expect to see here in my office at 6am on a Saturday...right?"

"Sounds like your expectations need a re-evaluation. How many other people do you think I would drop everything for and come searching out in the middle of the night?" Miranda said, gently taking Andrea's hand.

"Yeah-how did you even find me?"

"Well, I figured you were at work based on what you wrote. Andrea, I was worried sick that you were going to hurt yourself or something. I can't tell you how relieved I was to find you asleep. That's when I stepped out for coffee."

"But you came back."

"Of course I came back. I could never leave you like…" she paused for a moment after realizing what she had said. "I couldn't leave you. I wanted to talk to you. And we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I think you leaving in Paris was the first step of your amazing new career. I meant it before when I said that I am proud of you. You have impressive courage and understanding, and I have tremendous respect for that in a human being." Miranda pulled her hand away and placed them in her lap. "I hope you can forgive me for how I treated you."

"No, Miranda, it's I who should be asking your forgiveness. I am so sorry for worrying you in the middle of the night and pouring this all out to you-you must know it was not my intent. I was purposely just writing a blank email and I was going to delete it. I still don't even know how I managed to send that-and to you!"

"I am glad you did. Sometimes I forget how…" she paused. "I see your name in the paper for all the wonderful things you are achieving, and I wonder how you are."

Andrea set down the coffee cup and moved anxiously to the edge of her chair. "Um, so you know how you asked me what I needed before? Well, this is going to sound stupid and you're probably going to say no, but...ummm...I need a hug, right now, more than anything."

"Oh gosh, of course," Miranda said, quickly rushing over and wrapping her arms around the young woman. "Whatever you need," she said, softly pressing a kiss to the young woman's cheek.

Andrea whimpered as she relaxed into the other woman's arms. They sat there for several minutes until Miranda gently pulled back.

"Are you going to be okay?" the older woman asked.

Andrea nodded and hugged her tighter. "Yes, I will. Thank you."

"You are very welcome," Miranda said, gently brushing the young woman's cheek. Before she could react, Andrea's lips were pressed against her own. Their softness and warmth distracted her for a moment, but she quickly recovered and gently pulled away.

"Miranda, I'm sorry," Andrea said, covering her eyes and looking away.

"No, sweetheart," she said, "don't apologize. I think we should talk a little and take whatever this is, slowly."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now, I think you need some rest, no?" Miranda asked.

"Actually, I should get back to work. I have a conference call later today," Andrea said.

"You will get more accomplished if you give your brain a break. Trust me," the woman said. "I am actually quite exhausted, so if you'd like to come back to the townhouse with me, we can take a nap and have some lunch before you have to get back to work."

"I thought you said 'slowly,'" Andrea said with a chuckle as she stood and began packing up her papers. "And have I mentioned what an amazing woman you are, Miranda?"

The editor turned and looked at her in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "You never cease to amaze me. Thank you."

Miranda smiled and wrapped her arms around the young woman. "Let's go home."

**the end. **

**A/N: really needed to get this out and was surprised at how easily i could spin it mirandy. thx. xo**


End file.
